Despite being informed by the gallery that materials were hard to find, I hadn't grasped how critical the situation was. His remark prompted me to reflect on in-situ art practices. It's challenging, if not impossible, to foresee everything that may follow the installation, especially if your art act is also a cognitive act, a process to learn as you do. Is it about knowing everything about a context and then creating, or creating to know? I believe the middle way is the right approach.

A local artist I spent the days I was there with wrote to me a few months later: the print had disappeared. It did what I wanted it to do and moved on to another existence.

Digital print on tarpaulin, 150 x 150 cm
San Isidro, Havana, 2019.

In March 2019, I was in contact with Galería Taller Gorría, a local gallery overseeing a project named San Isidro Distrito De Arte, aimed at activating the district through exploration of urban art. In conjunction with the Bienal De La Habana, they decided to develop some off-fair projects in the city. They cautioned me about the difficulty of finding materials in Havana, advising me to bring as much as I could of what I needed. I wanted to work on a topic related to the site but was keen on avoiding the artist-demiurge dynamic.

How could I intervene in-situ without arrogance in a context I didn't fully know and, more importantly, with such a delicate and complex recent history? I asked the gallery to tell me about some of the critical issues of the neighborhood while avoiding political topics: as an outsider there for just a few days, I felt I didn't have the right to engage in political discussions. Among other things, the curators told me about how few people from the neighborhood actually go to the sea. Perhaps, because the option is always there, they end up losing interest in it. As simple as that but a dynamic I felt legitimate to talk about.

I arrived with prints and paint in my backpack. With the gallery curators, we spoke to some local friends of theirs to find a right spot for installing the piece: right, in this case beeing understood to the extent that the residents of the building are enthusiastic about the idea. It wasn't easy. Even with the gallery curator present, people were skeptical about an art project being installed on their building. It was not clear to me whether people thought Cuba has a dictatorial government or not? If so, do they celebrate it, denounce it, or suffer it? It felt as if the regime was subtly present, but not overt. Only after spending a few days in the city did I realize that opinions were discordant, and the topic was often avoided.

The next day, we returned to speak to a family who seemed interested in the idea. After talking to the husband, he had invited us to return the next day to discuss with his wife. They accepted.

During the installation, people observed with skepticism and curiosity. Once the image became clear, locals started reacting positively, either by observing or taking pictures, often asking about the reasons behind the idea with a subtext of appreciation. After the print was up, they even helped me paint the gold frame. Over the next three days, I spent time in the neighborhood to observe reactions, regretting not having documented it more extensively.

Despite being informed by the gallery that materials were hard to find, I hadn't grasped how critical the situation was. His remark prompted me to reflect on in-situ art practices. It's challenging, if not impossible, to foresee everything that may follow the installation, especially if your art act is also a cognitive act, a process to learn as you do. Is it about knowing everything about a context and then creating, or creating to know? I believe the middle way is the right approach.

A local artist I spent the days I was there with wrote to me a few months later: the print had disappeared. It did what I wanted it to do and moved on to another existence.